


Broken Star by pandemonium_213

by pandemonium_213



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Violence--Mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-09
Updated: 2007-09-09
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandemonium_213/pseuds/pandemonium_213
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sauron's last request of Celebrimbor. A double drabble epilogue of sorts to Cat's Paws.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Naked and vulnerable, a broken star of the House of Fëanáro bound at four points, he was stretched out before me. I did not require chthonian dungeons filled with the instruments of my darkest craft for the task at hand. Here in the courtyard before the House of the Mírëtanor, I would apply the crudest of my persuasive skills.  
  
I leaned down, gently pushed his dark hair away from his ear and whispered to him.  
  
“Tyelpo, I ask this one last time: where are the Three Rings? It does not have to be like this. Just tell me.”  
  
His eyes blazed in defiance and agony – not only the agony of physical pain but also the agony of betrayal and self-loathing. He locked his gaze with mine and hissed through bruised, broken lips:  
  
“I will never tell you _...Sauron_.”  
  
That vestige of myself who had been this man’s mentor, colleague, and friend momentarily recoiled at the ancient and reviled _anessë_ that he spat at me, but I did not waver. I smoothed back his hair and kissed his brow, tasting the blood smeared across his skin.  
  
“So be it, brother-of-my-heart,” I said as I reached for the glowing hot iron rod.  



	2. Chapter 2

Naked and vulnerable, a broken star of the House of Fëanáro bound at four points, he was stretched out before me. I did not require chthonian dungeons filled with the instruments of my darkest craft for the task at hand. Here in the courtyard before the House of the Mírëtanor, I would apply the crudest of my persuasive skills.  
  
I leaned down, gently pushed his dark hair away from his ear and whispered to him.  
  
“Tyelpo, I ask this one last time: where are the Three Rings? It does not have to be like this. Just tell me.”  
  
His eyes blazed in defiance and agony – not only the agony of physical pain but also the agony of betrayal and self-loathing. He locked his gaze with mine and hissed through bruised, broken lips:  
  
“I will never tell you _...Sauron_.”  
  
That vestige of myself who had been this man’s mentor, colleague, and friend momentarily recoiled at the ancient and reviled _anessë_ that he spat at me, but I did not waver. I smoothed back his hair and kissed his brow, tasting the blood smeared across his skin.  
  
“So be it, brother-of-my-heart,” I said as I reached for the glowing hot iron rod.  


**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> This story archived at <http://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/archive/home/viewstory.php?sid=159>  
> 


End file.
